


Twelve Days

by athaclena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate universe medley basically, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Stand-alone chapters, Themed drabbles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, more pairings and tag to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athaclena/pseuds/athaclena
Summary: Twelve stand-alone stories based around weddings, proposals, and that damn song. Pack a toothbrush, this is shameless romance to tide us through the dark part of the year and make everything a little more rose-tinted.





	1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Destiel. Setting: canon. Warnings: None, other than, you know, tooth-rotting fluff.

Dean almost refused to go in to the restaurant, some pop-up hipster place that he was sure would make him feel out of place and awkward and the food would be terrible and over-priced and they would force him to drink micro-brewed too hoppy lagers with stupid names. But Cas, well, one look at those pleading eyes and Dean folded like a cheap pack of cards. He would do anything for him.

And actually it wasn't that bad. The waiters might have giant hipster beards but they were all dressed in lumberjack chic, so Dean fit in even if he was clean-shaven and didn't have an undercut or weird shaved bits on his head, and Jesus he was turning into an old man even in his own head. Well, he kind of was, really, 40 going on 80 if subjective time counted.

Snow was falling outside, and the Christmas music being played was (obviously) modern re-takes on classics, with a few really strange sounding things in there too, which Cas mouthed along to happily.

“They used to sing this in the Middle Ages,” he said quietly at Dean's look. “Gaudete. It was very popular for a few hundred years, until the more modern styles came in.” Modern in this case meaning Classical, Dean supposed. But. It made Cas happy. And, well, he would do anything for him, even eat partridge in a restaurant called The Pear Tree, surrounded by hipsters, drinking mulled wine.

Admittedly the mulling made the wine taste good. And the partridge was nice too, even if it was a lot gamier than Dean was used to. Sam would probably hate it. But Sam wasn't here. He was resting up after he got a concussion from the salt-and-burn they came here for, and tonight was just for Cas and Dean.

There wasn't a menu as such, apparently the restaurant had felt no need to give their patrons a choice, so dessert was the same for both of them, a couple of small pies with a lump of slowly-melting creamy stuff beside it.

“Mince pies,” Cas said proudly, like he had invented them. Hell, he might've, for all Dean knew. “They used to be called mincemeat but there's no meat in them, just fruit. And brandy butter.”

Dean was dubious but Cas seemed so pleased to have found a new pie experience for him, and he couldn't let him down. He dug in, carefully at first, but with increasing gusto at heavy mix of the brandy butter – literally just brandy mixed with sweetened butter, which would give Sam a heart attack to see him eat – and the Christmassy spices in the pie. The filling was okay too, chewy and occasionally nutty.

“Shame they didn't have anything else from the song for dessert,” Dean commented once his plate was empty. “The pies were good though.” He grinned at Cas, taking his free hand and holding it tight, thrilled at his own daring. Hipsters weren't homophobic though, at least not kick-your-face-in homophobic, so he could afford to be affectionate here.

Cas gave him a small but sincere smile. “I'm glad.” He cleared his throat, and only Dean could see how nervous he was, only Dean out of the entire rest of the world knew how to read him that well. “Actually, I did have something else that was related to the song. Although a different number. I don't think the original number would be appropriate in this instance. I hope that doesn't spoil it.” He frowned a little and Dean smiled soft and fond at the nerd in front of him.

He was about to open his mouth to speak, some joke about him not taking any swans in the Impala, when Cas put his free hand on the table and moved it away, leaving two pale gold rings behind. Dean's breath caught in his throat.

“They're electrum, and they should have the properties of both gold and silver to any supernatural creature. And I had some Enochian warding inscribed inside, just some protections and a minor ease-of-location spell. There's – there's space on the outside for more, if you want. Or for anything else.” Cas took a deep breath, eyes wide. “Say something, Dean.”

“Cas. I can't say yes until you ask me the question,” Dean replied softly, eyes flickering between Cas and the rings.

“Oh. Oh! Because of the tradition, I see. Very well.” Cas took the larger ring and slipped off the table onto one knee, holding the ring up to Dean hopefully, eyes shining like the stars they used to be. “Dean Winchester, will you marry me?”

Dean took a shuddering breath, and when he came to tell Sam the story later he missed out the part about the single tear that slipped out, and said yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: electrum is a naturally-occurring alloy of gold and silver, and has been used since ancient times as decoration and jewellery. It's harder than gold - although frankly butter is harder than pure gold - and it's pretty damn conductive, as well, seeing as both gold and silver are highly conductive. The colour varies between barely-gold to only-slightly-less-gold-than-gold depending on the ratio between the two.
> 
> I also see no reason why smacking a shifter with, say, a 50:50 electrum wouldn't hurt it. Might not be as much, but there's still a lot of silver in there. Also, there's zero chance that Sam and Dean are actually using silver knives. Silver is only slightly harder than gold. It can't keep an edge worth a damn, and it will bend if it hits anything hard, like bone. They're using silver-plated steel. And if that works, there's no reason why electrum wouldn't be effective either.
> 
> Another fun fact: apparently, eating off silver cutlery really does make food taste better. Gold cutlery makes it taste better again. I have no personal experience of this, alas.
> 
> I'm going to try to finish this before Twelfth Night (January 6th), but I'm making no promises, this is a busy time of year.


	2. Two Turtle Doves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Sabriel, bit of Destiel on the side, and Michael/Anna in the background. Setting: modern AU. Warnings: in camera drug use, bird death, other birds (maybe don't read any of the bird chapters if birds freak you out tbh), and lots of swearing.

Gabriel was having a shit of a day. First Lucy's temper tantrum in the morning nearly broke the tenuous peace between him and Mikey; now Mikey was freaking the fuck out because the perfect white doves had snuffed it in the back of someone's car because of the heat. Fucking Hawaii. Sure, it made a Christmas wedding bearable, but it was really freaking hot in a tux. The bride was in hysterics, the groom was not far off it, Baz was stropping around the place like an assbutt, and speaking of assbutts, Cassie was getting high with one of the waiters behind the tent. Canopy. Whatever, no-one fucking cared except Mike and Anna.

“You little shit,” he hissed at Castiel, who turned laughing reddened eyes back on him. “You're supposed to drive us around.”

His charming and wonderful baby brother rolled his eyes. “I'm not that high, I can still drive,” he said, but then his waiter buddy giggled, setting Cas off, and then they were both rolling on the ground in hysterics.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Mom's gonna kill you. You have the worst timing in the world to go on a bender.” Okay, the kid was fucked up and that was kind of on all of the family – scratch that, it was totally on all of them – but now? Really? “I don't care what you take after the ceremony, okay, but please, for the love of Dad, sober the fuck up right now. Mainline some coffee and eat something – not the cake not the cake, Cassie, we're not having a repeat of Aunt Naomi's third wedding – and I'll sort this shit out with the doves.”

“Oh, hey, I can help with that,” stoner waiter said in mild surprise. “I – I'm sorry, man, this was my fault, he was freaking out, and so I said “have a joint, it'll help”, only I forgot that Benny set me up with the really good grass last night, and now, well, it's totally my fault and I'll make sure he has a lot of coffee, okay? And no more drugs until after the party starts. I promise,” he rambled. Cas pouted and stoner waiter blushed and good fucking grief, how was Cassie's game better than Gabe's? Fuck Gabe's life.

“Okay, great, you help with the coffee. Maybe have some yourself. Your eyes are looking a bit red.”

“Like forests on fire,” Cas nodded solemnly, and stoner waiter blushed again, looking into Cas's own baby blues with lovestruck awe before he slapped himself in the face and blinked hard.

“No, man, or, well, that too, I can do that. But my baby bro is here too and he works for a rescue shelter for birds and animals and stuff, right? And they're always picking up doves. So, right, you get Sammy to take you there, get some doves, bring 'em back, we'll be mostly sober by then, wedding saved, you're the hero.”

“That is... a remarkably good plan and you are working your way into my good books. I'm still confiscating your weed until after the wedding's over though.”

Stoner waiter took another long look at Cas, who was watching his own hands make swirly shapes and muttering about trees and flames, and nodded his agreement. “You better give me this back, though.”

“After tax, sure,” Gabe replied, pocketing the bag and wandering off to search for little-brother-Sammy.

Crucially, stoner waiter guy had left out a couple of important details. The first was that little-brother-Sammy was, in fact, very-tall-brother-it's-Sam-actually; the second was that he was over the age of 21; and the third was that he was pants-tighteningly gorgeous. Admittedly the second was only important because of the third, and took fifteen minutes of smooth talking to prise out of Sam, who was grinding his teeth at his brother's antics.

“If he gets fired from this too I'm gonna kill him,” he muttered as they idled behind a tour bus. “Dammit, Dean.”

“He regularly gets stoned on the job?” Gabe asked. “Cassie used to, before he walked out.”

“No, it's usually... I dunno, he's having trouble readjusting to civilian life, I guess, and he won't talk about it but he probably has PTSD, and I just – I can't be there the whole time for him, you know? I go to Stanford. He won't even fly out with me, he's terrified of planes, so I have to leave him here all the time and – it's just a mess.” He grimaced at Gabriel sympathetically and sweet baby Fenrir those eyes made Gabe want to dive into them. “Guess you know all about cleaning up after your brothers, though, right? I've see you putting out their fires all morning.”

Gabe blushed. Like a kid with a crush. “Well, actually, usually Mikey does it,” he admitted. “He's the boring one. I mean sensible one. Lucy's, well, a highly strung competitive pissbaby, and Cassie's the fuckup. I'm the charming disappointment.”

“Gotta say, you don't seem like a disappointment so far,” Sam said, overtaking the bus and speeding down the road with a small whoop.

“I run a porn studio. Doesn't matter how many times Cassie runs away or how many pills he pops, I'm always more disappointing than he is.” Gabe found a pack of mints in his pocket and looked at the sadly. He'd been banned from anything else during the ceremony. “In all fairness to the kid, he's trying really hard this time round. I've not seen him with anything stronger than weed for a long time.”

“Shit, dude, and I thought my family was fucked up,” Sam laughed. “Here we are. It's doves you're looking for, right? How many?”

“I think they were going to release two but the wedding planner had four. And then killed them all, because he's a fucking moron.”

Sam scowled at that, and it was both terrifying and sexy as hell. “He should get charged with animal neglect.”

“Yeah, but he was a little held up by Luc locking Michael in the toilet and threatening to swallow the key. Hence Cassie now being fucked up with your brother. Or possibly by your brother by now. Boy's got game, I'll give him that.”

Sam leads him into the building and through to the bird cages, down a corridor brightly painted with lots of pictures of birds. “Dean? No! He's straight as an arrow, man, never shown the slightest interest in men. He makes a good ally, but he's not very open to new experiences. Says that's better left to us Californian hippies.”

It took a lot of effort not to trip over his own feet at that oh-so-casual remark, and Gabe swallowed hope and lust down. “Well, not everyone has our expertise at bending the boundaries, that's true,” he purred. “Honestly though, there were a lot of longing looks going on on, it was gross. And I know lust when I see it. I directed a few of the early Casa Erotica movies as well as producing them.”

“No way, Casa Erotica!” Sam laughed. A beautiful sound. A sound more musical than the birdsong surrounding him. “Dean loves those films, I had to send the new ones to him a few times when he was stationed abroad. He's gonna want your autograph.”

“Oh? What did you think?”

“I gotta say, I did like the Frat House run,” Sam smiled, and this time Gabriel caught it, the flicker of Sam's luminous eyes to his lips.

“That was a good run. I was a fan myself. Always did like the idea of some burly young thing pinning me over my desk. Never quite got around to it at the time, though.” Gabe's voice was low and his blood was fizzing in his veins. Finally, a good opportunity for a fuck at this wedding. Sam licked his lips, eyes dark, and Gabe mentally cheered himself on.

Now, if only the rest of the day would go so well... oh, shit. “Oh, shit,” he said, looking at the doves. “These are the doves you were talking about?” Sam nodded, looking worried. “Shit. Shit! They wanted white, because of course they did, fucking bullshit religious symbolism. These are... not white.”

“No, they're spotted doves,” Sam said sadly. “Oh, man, I'm so sorry. We don't have any of the white ones here, those are breeder's birds. I didn't even think. God, you must think I'm an idiot.”

“No, I think Baz is an idiot, you're clearly really smart. And besides, beautiful people always get a free pass,” Gabriel replied absently. Could he make this work? Could he paint them, maybe? No. Bad idea. Sam would definitely hate that.

Sam was blushing fiercely but, bless him, he stayed on target. “I think we have a couple of mourning doves in, they're a lot whiter,” he offered.

“Dude. They're called mourning doves. That is not a good omen.”

“They're also called turtle-doves,” Sam argued, but his heart wasn't in it. “Um, we have a few fairy terns, but they're more skittish, and if you're going for symbolism they're not good with chicks, they don't have nests,” he explained.

“Your enthusiasm is adorable but unhelpful, Samwise,” Gabe sighed. “I think I might be able to make these guys work, though. How many of them are well enough to be released?”

“Uh... two. I was gonna release them yesterday but I got caught up with other stuff, so they're all checked out and good to go.”

“It's fate,” Gabe declared, winking at Sam,” or that's what we're going to tell Anna and Michael, anyway. Gonna take a lot of fast talking, though.”

“I get the feeling you're good at that,” Sam smiled, and oh God, those were dimples, and they were begging to be kissed.

“Usually, although I gotta say, not feeling super smooth right now,” Gabe replied. “If I were really smooth I'd already have your number.”

Sam smirked. “Not in front of the birds, some of them remember things.” One of the more colourful large birds made a noise that sounded suspiciously like “oh shit” and they both looked at it and winced. “Come on, let's get these guys to the wedding.”

In the end, it took longer to persuade Mikey of the wisdom of the spotted doves than it did Anna, who took one look at them, saw that they perfectly matched her bridesmaids' dresses, and was all on board. But Mike was a soft touch for a romantic story, and Sam was pretty eloquent when he wanted to be, waxing lyrical about the birds' pair-bonding, community building, and care of their young, and he fell in line pretty quickly.

Cassie, for a wonder, was actually mostly sober by the time the wedding rolled around. His hair was a mess, though. Gabriel tried not to think about it too much. The ceremony went smoothly, the bride and groom were both lovely and both of them cried the perfect photogenic amount, and Luc kept his mouth shut. And, even better, the birds didn't even crap on anyone when they were released. It was pretty flawless, even if Gabe did say so himself.

By the time the evening dancing had started and he had mostly done his duty for the night, Cas had managed to pilfer the bag of weed and skin up another generous joint. They stood on the beach together, watching the doves fly around Sam, who was trying to shoo them away.

“I thought Anna looked radiant,” Cassie said, his voice deepened by the smoke. Gabe took the joint from him and inhaled a long, blissful drag. “And Luc's very well behaved.”

“That's because I gave him some ecstasy earlier,” Gabe said. “You're not getting any though.”

“I don't think I need it, here. I feel like winter is finally out of my system. Chicago is far too cold, this time of year. I might stay here. Live on the beach for a while. Learn about the native plants and insects.”

“You and your damn bees,” Gabe sighed. “And if you happen to fall on the dick of that hot waiter a few more times, all to the good, right?”

“He promised to teach me how to surf,” Cas replied dreamily. “I always wanted to learn. He says it feels like flying.”

“Here's hoping Sammich has his feet on the ground.”

Sam eventually gave up on chasing the doves away and came over to them, one bird on each shoulder. Gabe gave him a slow smile. “Want a blowback?”

“Rather have a blowjob, but sure,” Sam grumbled. Gabe shrugged and dropped to his knees. “Holy shit not now! Or not here, anyway! We're in the middle of the beach! Your brother's watching!”

Gabe looked up and grinned. “Gotcha.”

Sam looked down at him, running one big hand through Gabe's hair. “Yeah, I kind of think you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not as happy with this one as I was with the first one, but it settled into itself with little-to-no effort on my part, and I quite like it so I'm posting it tonight. It's 2am here and I have been awake for 17 hours. That is several hours too long. I am starting to do that thing where you get weird and full of random short-lived energy spikes. So, you know, sorry if it's shit. First time I've ever written Sabriel (not really a huge ship of mine but the pairing worked the best) and I now know a lot more about doves than I ever wanted to.
> 
> Fun fact: doves aren't native to Hawaii, they were all imported. The spotted dove is apparently a subspecies on Hawaii, and it breeds all year round in the sun and is the prettiest of the three dove species there, IMO, [see?](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spotted_dove#/media/File:Spotted_Dove_RWD4.jpg). I was a little surprised that actual turtle doves live on Hawaii, but I guess they're basically pigeons, they can live everywhere. Plus there's good eating on them so they got taken on ships a lot as self-replicating food. Fairy terns, OTOH, look adorable, and being called after fairies is always a plus, but I'm not joking about the nest thing, they don't bother with one. Seems like a poor choice for survival, but I guess if you're bright white sitting on a nest isn't a good trait to have, unless you live somewhere snowy.
> 
> Writing involves a lot more research than I believed it did when I was a child. This is a source of frustration. Thank all the gods for wikipedia.


End file.
